House's Liver
by damigella
Summary: It is very unhealthy to mix Vicodin and whiskey. Now complete! Warning: possible major character death. No slash. Could be friendship or preslash. Swearing. Drugs and alcohol.
1. April 17th

Title: House's Liver

Spoilers: mild for Season 7 up to Ep 18. AU for further episodes.

Warning: possible major character death.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the House, MD characters, which is good since I tend to kill them.

Acknowledgements: many thanks to my efficient and helpful beta reader, George Stark II, who never complains no matter how many mistakes I manage to pile up in a single sentence. Further thanks to yarroway and karaokegal for consults about Judaica. Any remaining errors are of course mine.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Sunday, April 17<strong>_

He woke up suddenly. He opened his eyes and closed them again, blinded by the light.

"House, what are you doing here in the middle of the night?"

"It's only eleven thirty, and I need your help."

Wilson raised himself very slowly, moved away the hair in front of his eyes and looked sleepily at the tall man sitting on his bed, his cane banging softly on the floor between his legs. "What do you want?"

House looked back at him, no sign of emotion on his face. Wilson scrubbed his eyes, trying to focus his sight or possibly his thoughts.

"My liver is failing."

* * *

><p>Ten minutes and (for Wilson) a hasty shower later, they were in the kitchen sitting in front of two large mugs of coffee. That wasn't necessarily a good idea for a failing liver, but Wilson hadn't felt like arguing since he needed it if he hoped to be useful.<p>

"I got my blood test results this afternoon, but I didn't open them until Dominika fell asleep." Wilson looked carefully: the diagnostician's eyes and, to a lesser extent, his face had a barely noticeable yellow hue. Or maybe he was imagining that.

"How thoughtful of you not to spoil your wife's sleep." He wished he could have skipped the bitterness, but it had been impossible. The whole wedding and green card marriage nonsense still stung him. "So how long are you going to be around?"

"I might have still a week." He pulled an envelope from his jacket's inner pocket and slid it over the table to Wilson. The oncologist opened it, read the sheet of paper inside, and paled. He checked the numbers again, then lifted his eyes to House's face, in the absurd hope that the brilliant diagnostician was going to find a way out.

House's tone was quiet, his eyes fixed in his friend's. "I'll get a more precise estimate in a couple of days. But there's a lot to arrange and Dominika can't do that."

"What do you mean, 'arrange**'**? You have to be in hospital and on the transplant list." Wilson's hand tried to find comfort in the hair on the back of his head, but with little success. He knew how difficult it was to find a liver fast.

House laughed, but his eyes stayed as empty of emotion as they had been before. "Nobody will give a liver to a relapsed Vicodin addict with a drinking problem. As if finding an AB liver in time wasn't hard enough."

"So what is it you want me to do?"

"I want you to make sure Dominika gets my insurance money and, if at all possible, her green card. I would be sorry to cheat her when she has fulfilled her part of the contract. Plus, I think she genuinely likes me. Or she's good at pretending it."

Wilson had had the same impression about her, and he tried very hard not to think about what said contract may or may not have included. Then he wondered why he should feel bothered by the thought of Dominika sleeping with House when he hadn't cared about the hookers. "Do you want me to marry her next?"

"That would be a brilliant solution, and she's certainly a nicer woman than any of your ex-wives. Although, after me, you'll be a sad second choice."

"I'll help, of course. But…I need time to process this. I can't believe you're dying." He bit his tongue not to add "again". The jump in the pool had been scary as hell, but it had been mercifully fast. This felt like a very long nightmare from which he may never wake up.

"You're such a girl, Wilson. You spend your days merrily delivering life sentences, and yet you want me to live forever. I'll see you tomorrow at my place. Around noon."

House lifted himself from the chair and started moving towards the door. Wilson stopped him, a hand on his shoulder. "House…I…"

"Don't say anything soppy or I'll have five Vicodins and a bottle of whiskey the moment I get home." The blue in House's eyes looked more impressive than usual, perhaps because the pupils were so tiny. There was definitely enough Vicodin in his system already.

Wilson lowered his hand, and saw his friend to the door. "See you tomorrow, House."

"Goodnight, Wilson."

* * *

><p>The oncologist brewed himself more coffee and looked again at House's test results that had been left on his table. Then he switched on his laptop and started browsing.<p> 


	2. April 18th

Title: House's Liver

Spoilers: mild for Season 7 up to Ep 18. AU for further episodes.

Warning: possible major character death. Swearwords. No sex.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the House, MD characters, which is good since I tend to kill them.

Acknowledgements: many thanks to my efficient and helpful beta reader, George Stark II, who never complains no matter how many mistakes I manage to pile up in a single sentence. Further thanks to yarroway and karaokegal for consults about Judaism. Any remaining errors are of course mine.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Monday, April 18<strong>_

"House… House open your eyes."

He woke up slowly, his hand blindly searching for the Vicodin bottle on the bedside table. His mouth felt like there was a nest of dead mice in it. He swallowed two pills dry, almost grateful for the bitter taste, and gripped his thigh with both hands, waiting for the pain to abate.

"House."

He finally focused on Wilson, then he briefly turned his eyes to the window. It definitely wasn't noon. He looked back at the oncologist's face. "What the fuck are you doing here at this ungodly hour?"

"It's nine, and you have to get up and hurry."

"Why? Are you afraid I'll be late at my own funeral?"

"No. You have an appointment for fast detox this morning."

He felt anger swell inside him. "I have a week left and you want to detox me? Are you crazy? I want to drug myself into oblivion!"

Wilson's eyes had deep, dark purple circles around them, but they looked full of a determination he rarely showed in daily life. Except when he tried to wrestle a patient out of the hands of death.

"I want you to live, House, however little you may care about it. Get up and dress, we'll talk while you have breakfast."

* * *

><p>"I'm not going anywhere until you explain what your crazy plan is." House drank his coffee without even looking for food. Wilson realized that his liver must be already sending the first error messages.<p>

"We need to get you checked in, and as you said, you can't get a new liver if you're relapsed. Who prescribed the Vicodin for you anyway?"

"Nobody did. I bought it on the free market."

"Good. This way there will be no proof you have relapsed at all." Wilson sipped his coffee and looked at his watch. "A friend of a friend runs a private clinic. Very discreet. You'll feel like you're in one of those luxury hotels you like so much. Except you won't feel anything because he'll put you in a coma and detox you. This way you will qualify for a liver transplant, if you need it."

"How did you get me a place so soon?"

"I started calling a number of people early this morning. Most doctors are awake at seven, luckily." He finished his coffee. "Dominika has packed some stuff for you, and here's some toast with jelly and peanut butter she made. I want you to eat it in the car. There's no reason to screw up your stomach as well as your liver."

"You want me to eat something sticky and crumbly in your Volvo? Are you crazy?" The caffeine was obviously working its magic on House's brain.

"You can pee in my car, as far as I'm concerned. Just come."

* * *

><p>The receptionist lifted her eyes and, upon hearing Wilson's name, made a brief phone call. Then she accompanied them to a small, elegant room containing dark leather couches and armchairs on an off-white, very soft carpet. It looked like a small living room, facing a beautiful garden. Soon a man in his mid-forties came in. He was short and slightly paunchy, with carefully combed dark hair and an elegant suit. "Good morning and welcome to Eden Clinic! I'm Dr. Hutchins."<p>

Wilson introduced all of them, then they sat down. House apparently noticed how nervous Dominika was, and she felt his right hand grabbing her left and holding it tight.

Dr. Hutchins looked at the diagnosticianwith some kind of awe. "Dr. House, it's a honor to get to know you. Although I would have preferred to do so in different circumstances."

"So would I."

Wilson intervened. "He needs to start detoxing. How soon can you do it?"

Hutchins considered. "If there's no problem we can start around lunchtime and he'll be clean tomorrow morning."

"There is a problem: my liver is shot," House commented while he was still talking.

Hutchins smiled back, unfazed. "I know that; Dr. Wilson gave us your test results. We'll manage. You're not the first patient in this condition we get."

"How many did you kill so far?"

Dominika thought this time the man would get angry, but he was obviously used to this kind of behavior because he didn't seem to notice. "Zero. And I don't want to change that number. It wouldn't be a good business move." He slid a sheet of paper to them. "These are the names of the doctors that will supervise the procedure and choose the protocols."

House got the paper first, and read it. He passed it to Wilson, and both remained stunned for an instant. "How do you get ahold of people of that level?"

Hutchins widened his smile. Dominika wouldn't have thought this possible. "It's not a problem. And we protect the privacy of our clients as well."

Wilson seemed very interested in this. "How much?"

"We keep everybody here under a false name. Every patient has a private suite and all staff has very strict confidentiality rules. With heavy penalties in case of breach of trust."

The smile turned towards her. "Do you have any questions, Mrs. House?"

She blushed a bit. Wilson had insisted she should refer to the doctor as her husband in the clinic. "Will I be able to spend the night here with my husband?"

"If you prefer, certainly: the suite has a guest bedroom. He will be unconscious most of the time, though."

She looked at her…husband. "Do you want me to stay?"

He looked back, and gratitude flickered for a moment in his eyes. "That would be great." He seemed lost in thought as Dr. Hutchins summoned a nurse to bring them to House's suite and politely took leave.

* * *

><p>The suite looked like a small, luxury condo with a hospital room in it. She sat down in a corner armchair and listened to the two doctors' discussion.<p>

"You like making my decisions for me, right? What if I don't want to detox?" There was not only anger in her husband's voice. Was it…fear below it? He was sitting stiffly on the couch, his hands clutching his cane.

Wilson's voice kept calm, but his eyes were shining with repressed rage as he paced around the room, occasionally glancing through the window to the quietly flowing river below. "You can leave now, or anytime until they start the detox process. But I hope you don't." There was a sharp edge in his voice she hadn't heard before.

House looked defeated now. He dropped the cane and slouched. "I won't. But I'm not sure how I'm going to pay for all of this. It's certainly not covered by my insurance, is it?"

For the first time that day Wilson smiled. "No. You can't bill an insurance company for an anonymous patient."

"Then how the heck do you think I'm going to pay for this? I've seen the names, and the kind of service they provide here. I can't afford it." House started fiddling with the remote, without switching on the television.

Wilson looked embarrassed; he stared at the floor, as if he hoped to find an answer somewhere on the elegant carpet. "We'll think about it once you're better. If you die it's not going to be your problem, anyway."

He looked at his watch. "I have to go now. I'll be back this evening, but you won't know that. I'll see you tomorrow morning."

"Bring donuts!"

"This clinic has a very good restaurant. Just order anything you want from the menu and have it charged on the room."

He turned politely to her. "The same holds for you, Dominika: here's the menu for the room service. And here are all my phone numbers. Call me if there's any problem. Unfortunately I can't stay here now."

He quickly rose and left. She didn't know what to say. Her husband looked clearly frightened now, which made her very worried indeed. But she said nothing, since she knew he wouldn't like her to.

* * *

><p>Cuddy said "Come in!" without lifting her head.<p>

"Hi, Cuddy. Sorry I came in late."

"Hi, Wilson." She gestured him to sit down, her eyes still busy with the spreadsheet in front of her. "So, how's my Head of Diagnostics doing?"

Wilson scraped the back of his head. "He has a hangover. He might also have some kind of stomach flu, but that's hard to say. I'm not sure he'll be able to come in tomorrow."

Cuddy finally lifted her head and looked at him. "Were you drinking with him last night? Because you don't look too healthy, either."

His left hand went to his forehead. "I might be catching the same bug. I'm feeling kind of nauseous and didn't sleep well."

"Do you want to take today off?"

"No, if it's okay with you I'll work this afternoon and take off tomorrow morning. Can I skip clinic today, though? I have an appointment at my bank - apparently I can refinance my mortgage at a better rate."

"Certainly. And keep an eye on House, will you?" She hoped she didn't sound too hurt, but she was in pain. His wedding, however fake, was too soon for her and too close to her own dreams - which, she suspected, was precisely the reason he had done it.

"I will. As I always do." Wilson went out. She wondered for a second whether he had looked unreasonably worried. Then she bent her head back to the columns of numbers in front of her and forgot about it.

* * *

><p>"Hi, Sandy."<p>

"Good morning, Dr. Wilson. I referred or rescheduled everything so as to clear this morning and tomorrow morning. Today you're busy 12-5 back to back, though, so you'd better hurry."

"Thank you. Anything else?"

"Mrs. House called five minutes ago." Sandy couldn't help the smirk on her face. Luckily Dr. Wilson didn't seem to notice.

"She said that Dr. House was now sleeping."

Apparently the absurd message made sense to him, because he sighed with relief. "That's good news. Okay, I'll be in my office from now until 5pm."

"Should I bring you a sandwich from the cafeteria?"

"That would be nice, but just a sandwich and a soda, no salad. I'll hardly have time to eat it anyway."

He gave her a ten dollar bill, and smiled. "Thank you so much, Sandy."

As he went into his office, Sandy wondered how such a nice man could be thrice divorced. Or how he could spend his time with Dr. House. But since she knew most of the oncology department had similarly wondered for the past decade and found no answer, she sighed and turned her thoughts to her next task.

* * *

><p>"Hi Bill. James Wilson speaking."<p>

"Hi James. Long time no hear." He didn't add "since the funeral" but they both knew.

"I need a favor."

"I can't push anyone up. Strict queuing rules." He wondered how many times he had repeated that sentence.

"I know. I just want to know how long is the New Jersey transplant list for AB+ livers, highest priority group."

"I really shouldn't tell."

"That's why it's a favor."

Bill, or rather Dr. William Steinmetz, was silent for a while. He thought back to Wilson lending him his notes in medical school. To how he had taken care of Bill's mother through one primary cancer and several metastases. It had been a ten-year battle, and Wilson had given his mother a high life quality until the end. "I can do it, it's no big deal. I'll call you tonight, at home."

"Thank you. Can you call my cell? I might be…"

"...with someone with AB+ blood and a liver problem. I'll call around eight."

"Thank you."

* * *

><p>Anita Milagros looked nervously at her watch. The sitter had to leave at six, and her customer had booked an appointment at 5.10 and then called to reschedule at 5:25. It was now 5:26 and…someone knocked. Maybe she would make it. "Please come in, Dr. Wilson."<p>

"Hi. Sorry I'm late." The handsome man in front of her looked incredibly tired, but his voice was gentle and his smile reinforced by the tiny wrinkles in the corners of his eyes.

"You aren't. What can I do for you?"

"I need money. I was wondering whether I can mortgage my condo further."

Anita checked the situation on her desktop. Payments were regular, and the mortgage was less than half the condo value. "How much would you want?"

"I don't know yet. Fifty to a hundred thousand dollars."

"Fifty would be no problem, and I think you can go up to a hundred and thirty. But if you borrow over sixty thousand we'll have to readjust your life insurance premium."

He looked relieved. She wondered what he needed the money for. Maybe a boat, or a fancy car. Or a young woman. Men in the middle years sometimes spent money in a stupid way. She forced herself to pay attention to his words. "…soon how much I'll need. How long does it take from my request until I have the money?"

"You can borrow the first ten thousand instantly; the rest will take one week or at most ten days."

He checked his watch, and automatically she checked hers. Twenty-two minutes to six.

"Thank you very much. I have to go now." He smiled again, but this time his eyes weren't smiling. In fact, he looked like he didn't see her at all. When he left, Anita quickly grabbed her bag and jacket and almost ran behind him. She would be home in time after all. At most five minutes late.

* * *

><p>Wilson parked his car in the garage of the Eden Clinic shortly after six. Before getting out and going to House's room, he flipped open his phone. He had one last call to make, one he had delayed all day long. He pushed a number on speed dial.<p>

"Mom? James. I'm sorry, but I don't think I'll be able to make it to the Seder tonight. Medical emergency."


	3. April 19th

Title: House's Liver

Spoilers: mild for Season 7 up to Ep 18. AU for further episodes.

Warning: possible major character death.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the House, MD characters, which is good since I tend to kill them.

Acknowledgements: many thanks to my efficient and helpful beta reader, George Stark II, who never complains no matter how many mistakes I manage to pile up in a single sentence. Further thanks to yarroway and karaokegal for consults about Judaism. Any remaining errors are of course mine.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Tuesday, April 19<strong>_

"House? Can you hear me? House?"

God, wasn't it yesterday that Wilson had woken him up too early? And now that idiot was doing it again! And his mouth tasted even worse, and he wasn't hungry at all.

"House!"

He forced his eyes opened, and was startled by the unfamiliar pictures on the walls, the window on the wrong side of the bed. He tried to rub his eyes and discovered there was an IV in his left hand. Then he remembered. The way Dominika had smiled, then promised to call Wilson before he closed his eyes and let the anesthesia do its job.

"Hi. Thanks, I think." He tried to move a bit and noticed the spinal cath. That of course explained why he was so pain-free despite the lack of opiates.

Dominika's anxious face came in his field of vision. "How are you? Are you hungry?"

"No, not at all. Were you here all night?"

She blushed. "Yes, but I slept." He realized that she was actually sitting on a foldout bed, very close to his.

He turned again to look at Wilson, who looked much better than the day before. "So, did you also spend the night here, and if so in which bed? Should I be jealous?"

"No, I was at home in the arms of Miss Valium." Wilson smiled. "A fantastic lady. Hadn't seen her in a long time, but I think I'll be getting reacquainted in the near future."

"And how am I?" House tried to squint at the monitor behind him, but it wasn't easy to read from his perspective.

Wilson handed him a small mirror. "Look for yourself." And a sheet of paper. "Here are your latest liver values. As soon as you're fit to be moved I'll have you brought to PPTH. And ask for you to be put on the transplant list."

"How much time do I have?"

"Campbell says at least four days."

He still couldn't believe Hutchins had managed to get Campbell to look at his file. "He's always very cautious, so most likely five. Which won't be enough."

"We'll know more once you are on the transplant list." Wilson looked relaxed about this. Did he know something House didn't? He personally thought that even if his tox screen was clear, he was well-known to be a drinker, and the chances of a disabled former addict with an alcohol problem getting a new liver… not so good.

"So when can I leave here?"

Dominika's eyes were now turned to Wilson, too, and he took the occasion to look at her without being noticed. Too bad she wasn't his real wife. He might get used to her and he felt she liked him.

"I was told to expect you at Princeton Plainsboro around noon."

"Okay, so wait for me for lunch." He looked at Dominika again. "Wait for us."

* * *

><p>Wilson showed up at the hospital before ten, and as expected there was a message from Cuddy, saying he should go to her office. He knocked and walked in at her answer.<p>

"Hi, Cuddy."

"Hi, Wilson." This time she lifted her head immediately. "You look better than yesterday. How's House?"

"Yes, I also feel better." He paused and sat down. Cuddy looked at him with surprise, as he carefully got hold of her right hand and held it in his left. "Lisa…House thinks his liver is failing. I took some blood from him and the liver enzymes are being analyzed now. But you can see for yourself the results of two days ago."

Cuddy looked at the sheet of paper, than lifted to Wilson's face a frightened gaze. "Wilson…this is a death sentence."

"He could get a new liver."

"As a relapsed addict? No, he can't. Or at least, he would be listed at such a low priority that it wouldn't matter."

Wilson smiled. "He's not a relapsed addict. It was just one Vicodin once. His tox screen is clean."

Cuddy looked at him like he had turned mad. "That's crazy. One? Once? We're talking about House!"

"Don't underestimate him." Wilson hoped to sound believable. He had to. "Have anyone you want test his blood. House will be here later this morning."

"Why not now?" Cuddy couldn't make sense of this contradictory information. House was on Vicodin, she had seen him with her eyes…how was he suddenly clean? And if his liver was failing, what was he doing at home?

"I think…" Wilson looked embarrassed. "I think he's trying to settle Dominika's paperwork. In case he, uh, you know…"

Cuddy felt a pang of pain deep inside. He actually cared for this woman. Whom he had known about a month.

"I see. Of course. Okay, I'll be there when they draw his blood for the test. I'll have our lab run a tox screen."

Wilson looked purposefully awkward as he said goodbye to Cuddy and left her office. But inside he felt optimistic. He had won the first battle. The first in a long war, unfortunately.

* * *

><p>He was rearranging his schedule and trying to free as much time as possible in the next few days, calling all the Department to his help, when he got the page from the reception.<p>

In a few minutes he was in a private room: House was being settled in the bed, Dominika sat in a chair near him, and Cuddy was looking at a nurse drawing vials of blood. She almost ran away with them, merely pausing to say goodbye.

He looked at his friend with worried eyes: he was definitely a bit yellower than the previous day. Dominika also looked tired and exhausted. He should have given her some sleeping pills, he realized.

"So, am I on the transplant list yet?"

"I've applied as your personal physician, using your blood tests from two days ago. I'll have an audience with the transplant committee this afternoon. Cuddy's rushing the tests on your blood."

"Too bad I won't be there. I'm sure it will be interesting."

"I'll try my best. How's your pain?"

"Bad, but manageable. I'm back to Ibuprofen. That's not so good for my liver either, unfortunately."

"Once you're on the transplant list, I'll ask whether we can give you opiates. But of course no acetaminophen, so no Vicodin."

"Of course." Wilson hoped that the blue eyes were sincere, and that he wouldn't try to self-medicate with his illegal stash.

"Dominika, I think this evening you should go home and get some rest. I'll give you something to help you sleep. But can you stay here with him today? I'll be busy. Call me if there's anything."

"I will. Don't worry, there are doctors all over this place," she finished with a smile.

Wilson felt relieved at her friendly presence. "Thank you for your help."

House growled "How about our lunch?"

Wilson looked at his watch. "I'll have two trays sent up - and don't eat her stuff, yours will be with easy-on-the-liver food. I might be able to join you both but don't count on it."

* * *

><p>Not only did Wilson have no time to see House again before the transplant committee hearing at two, he didn't even have time to eat. He had his secretary bring him a coffee and a donut, which he gulped down in record time so as to replenish his sugar and caffeine level.<p>

He hoped that insufficient nutrition was the only cause of his shivering hands when he knocked at the door where the transplant committee was waiting, but he knew this wasn't all.

"Good afternoon, Dr. Wilson. You have requested that your patient, Gregory House, be added to New Jersey transplant list. We've seen your report and the favorable letter of…" there was a startled pause in Cuddy's voice as she read the signature "Dr. Timothy Campbell." A few people present looked shocked. Campbell was one of the world experts in degenerative liver disease, and how Wilson had managed to get him to look at House's file was anyone's guess.

A lawyer from the Legal Office asked in a malicious voice "Isn't Dr. House a relapsed drug addict?"

Wilson felt his face grow red with anger, but Cuddy answered before he could. "Tox screen is negative. And I was personally present when the blood was drawn and brought it to the lab myself. We can keep him tested, and maybe we should, but he's clean and as far as I know has been since Mayfield. Dr. Wilson declares that House kept his usual pain meds in an old Vicodin bottle to anger his colleagues."

"Here it says the liver failure is due to acetaminophen and alcohol. Is Dr. House an alcoholic?"

"No, he's not. Although he might have been drinking more than usual recently…he got engaged and then married. Not so many people can do that sober." Wilson tried to sound at his most innocent, as he smiled at his own joke - everybody in the room knew how often he had gotten married, and by the success he'd had, they may well believe he was drunk every single time.

"Dr. Wilson, is there anything which you know that could prevent this board from recommending Gregory House for a liver transplant and which you haven't told us yet?" He heard Cuddy's voice pronounce the standard request formula, and was glad. He knew this meant the questions were almost over.

"No, there isn't."

"Are you really sure? Your medical license will be revoked if you lie. I repeat, is there anything which you haven't told us yet?"

Wilson looked straight in the eyes all the committee members, one after the other. Finally, he fixed his eyes on Cuddy's. "No, there isn't," he repeated, his voice as firm as before.

The committee voted unanimously in favor of placing House's name on the transplant list. This battle was over, and Wilson had won it.

* * *

><p>When he knocked, it was Dominika who answered "Come in."<p>

House looked very sick, slumped on the bed, and in pain. "So, can I kill myself yet?"

"Not quite. You're on the transplant list now. And I've arranged for you to get spinal analgesia again. You should be able to keep it for a day or two and by then hopefully I'll get permission for morphine."

He didn't say "Please don't take Vicodin," but knew that House had got the message. He could only hope he didn't decide to commit suicide.

"Where am I on the transplant list?"

Wilson pinched the bridge of his nose. "I don't know yet. I'll call and let you know. I'll be back around six."

When he left, her hand was on House's, who didn't seem to notice. Maybe he didn't mind.

* * *

><p>"Hi. I'm James Evan Wilson. You should have me in your files as living donor liver transplant code NJ09-7410."<p>

There was a pause at the other end of the line, then a professional voice answered. "Correct. Although of course we may need to verify your identity later."

"Good. Can you confirm that I'm entitled to a priority on any transplant list in New Jersey?"

"Yes. You can use it for yourself or for someone else, but only once."

"Great. I would like to use my priority for Gregory House, liver transplant request NJ11-4122."

A pause again. "I've found his file."

"I know I'm not allowed to ask who's in front of him, but would it make a difference if he got my priority?"

"I'm not sure I can answer this question. Please call back in five minutes." The voice at the other end was polite, but he knew these were sensitive topics. He forced himself to be patient.

* * *

><p>"Hi, Dr. Wilson again."<p>

"Yes, I'm allowed to answer. And yes, it would make a difference, although I cannot tell you what difference."

It was good this wasn't a video call, or he wouldn't have known where to hide his smile. "Thank you. Let me know what the official procedure is to give him my priority."

"You understood this is your one opportunity? Your priority will be lost whether he gets the liver or not."

"I understand."

"Okay, please take note…"

* * *

><p>Wilson took notes for a few minutes, then hung up the phone. He started preparing the documents. He could barely refrain from dancing in his office. Hope. Hope. His heart was beating so loud they must have heard it in the corridor.<p>

The polite voice from before informed him that the priority had now been implemented in the computer system. Wilson thanked her and hung up. He breathed deeply to prepare himself for the last phone call of the day.

"Hi Bill. It's me again, James."

"I expected your call. Your friend got worse? Or is it a relative?"

"No, it's a friend. Gregory House. Can you tell me where he is on the list?"

Wilson could hear the sound of the keyboard along with Bill's voice. "I shouldn't, but tomorrow this information will be accessible to your Dean. I don't know how you managed, but your friend is number one."

"Thank you so much, Bill."

"Don't hang up, James, there must be a mistake. How could someone so old and with health problems be top of the list? He… he got an LDLT priority?" Bill's voice sounded worried. Wilson remembered him as very careful and conscientious. He wouldn't tolerate mistakes. He could hear fingers ticking on a keyboard.

"James…you gave him your priority? He must be a really good friend." Bill's voice was almost quivering. Priorities were usually used only for close family members. Wilson may be risking his own life, or that of a loved one, in the future.

"He is a very good friend, indeed. Thank you for helping me make a difficult decision."

"You're welcome. I hope you won't regret it."

"Don't worry, and have a nice evening."

* * *

><p>He hung up the phone, trying to imagine the desperation of the person, whoever he or she was, who had been bumped down from the first place. There would be friends and relatives crying now, or whenever they found out. If they did, which he hoped they wouldn't. He tried to tell himself that he tried so hard to save House's life because he was such a good diagnostician who saved lives. But he finally had to admit that this, however true, was not his real motivation.<p>

He…he just couldn't lose one more person he loved. Not after Amber. It didn't matter whether House chose to spend time with him or marry a green card seeker; he needed to know he was alive. To hope their friendship, so watered down during his relationship with Cuddy, would grow back. As usual, he stopped his thoughts from wishing for more. If House died, that hope died with him.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note<strong>. I have no idea how the transplant system works in New Jersey or anywhere else. But I feel that a priority system for live donors would be a fair one. Beware: the next chapters will be much shorter.


	4. April 20th

Title: House's Liver

Spoilers: mild for Season 7 up to Ep 18. AU for further episodes.

Warning: possible major character death.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the House, MD characters, which is good since I tend to kill them.

Acknowledgements: many thanks to my efficient and helpful beta reader, George Stark II, who never complains no matter how many mistakes I manage to pile up in a single sentence. Further thanks to yarroway and karaokegal for consults about Judaica. Any remaining errors are of course mine.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Wednesday, April 20<strong>_

"Good morning."

"Good morning, Dominika." Wilson smiled, his hair ruffled and his clothes crumpled by the night spent on a cot at House's side.

Her eyes drifted to her husband's face. He was sleeping on his left side, probably because of the needle in his spine. It was good to see him finally relaxed. "How was the night?" she asked, without moving her eyes.

"Very good. Once the spinal cath was in, his pain subsided and he has now slept almost ten hours. And he even ate before that. Look, he must have heard you, he's waking up."

A big yawn, then House sat up. "Where's my breakfast? I'm ravenous. Although I feel like my last meal went rotten in my mouth."

"I'll have your tray brought up. But you won't like it." Wilson's face looked worried now. She tried to guess what he was looking at. House's eyes, it seemed. They were beautiful as usual… except for a very tiny yellow tinge in the white. Had it been there before?

"I want my file, too. I think I won't like that either."

Wilson fumbled in his briefcase. "The nurse brought in the latest results earlier this morning."

The Doctor fished his reading glasses from the bedside table and opened the file. "I seem to be dying perfectly on schedule."

Wilson massaged his forehead with his left hand. "House, you aren't going to die. Don't scare Dominika. You're number one on the transplant list."

"How is that even possible?" House almost screamed and then, narrowing his eyes, in a normal voice tone "and how would you know it already? Did you do something fishy?"

"No, I didn't. Maybe you're just lucky. As for how I know, I did call a friend for the information. Cuddy will receive it soon anyway."

"Great. So I just have to sit here and wait for someone to die, hopefully before I do."

"At least you have your wife, a thirty inch television and your PSP. I've got to go to work. See you later."

* * *

><p>Wilson showed up again around three in the afternoon, and sent Dominika home for a few hours; she would spend the next night with House.<p>

"You're off work so early? Cuddy'll be mad at you."

Wilson smiled, happy to hear his friend's usual banter, while at the same time concerned about his health. House was obviously getting weaker. "She's not quite herself these days. Apparently someone she cares for is very sick and might die."

House's voice went up to a shout. "She doesn't care for me. At most for her precious Department of Diagnostics."

Wilson held House's hand, surprising him so much that he didn't say anything at all. "House, promise me that you'll give her a chance to say goodbye. Alone."

House's eyes narrowed. "So now you're willing to admit I'm dying."

"I hope not. But I can't go around sabotaging cars and motorcycles. Although maybe I should. Yes, you might die."

House sank back into the pillows. "Alright. I'll do it. It will be something different, at least - dying is so damn boring."

"I called Stacy. She also wants her chance."

"God, Wilson, what else? Do you want a list of my childhood sweethearts? Or are you just so damn sure there wasn't any?" Then he added, in a low voice. "Of course you know there wasn't any."

Wilson understood and kept quiet. He waited.

"Okay. I'll see Cuddy and Stacy, each of them privately. Let's say Friday afternoon?"

Wilson smiled, relieved. "That's a good choice. You'll still be conscious. Campbell has sent an update, you should start slipping into a coma in the night between Friday and Saturday, or early Saturday morning." His hand scraped his hair. "Of course, we all hope a liver will come before that."

"Sure. _Spes, ultima dea_. At least I can be still useful: the ducklings came up to me with a new case today. Kind of interesting. I think Chase is collecting bets as to whether I croak before or after the patient." House lay back down in the pillow, visibly exhausted by the conversation.

"Anyway, thank you for letting me skip clinic duty altogether this week. How should we celebrate?" Wilson tried to make his voice sound completely normal. He wasn't sure he succeeded.

House's smirk, to Wilson's minor comfort, was like it had always been. "Since beer is probably off limits, I suggest a Monster Truck marathon. The DVD's are over there."

Cuddy glanced unobserved in House's room one hour later. Wilson was sitting on House's bed, his arm around his friend's shoulder. They were chatting and laughing. The death sentence, for the moment, was obviously forgotten.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's note<strong>: I made last-minute changes to this chapter, so it's not my beta reader's fault if it's full of mistakes.

If your Latin's a bit rusty, you can look up _Spes_ in wikipedia and see why she's the _ultima dea_.


	5. April 22nd

Title: House's Liver

Spoilers: mild for Season 7 up to Ep 18. AU for further episodes.

Warning: possible major character death.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the House, MD characters, which is good since I tend to kill them.

Acknowledgements: many thanks to my efficient and helpful beta reader, George Stark II, who never complains no matter how many mistakes I manage to pile up in a single sentence. Further thanks to yarroway and karaokegal for consults about Judaica. Any remaining errors are of course mine.

Author's note: this chapter was originally shorter, as I had avoided including the goodbye scenes. But then some people (you know who you are :-)) wrote in ff reviews and lj comments that they were looking forward to them, and I had a free day after all. So they are un-beta'ed, and any correction (especially of mistakes in English) will be welcome.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Friday, April 22<strong>_

"Hi, Greg. I couldn't believe it when Wilson called me and told me you were dying. But now…you really look like shit."

"Thank you, Stacy. You, on the other hand, look beautiful as usual. Whoever is injecting you with botox is doing a great job. Too bad for the loss of facial expression."

"Anyway, I read your email and prepared all the paperwork you requested. Just sign wherever there's a cross."

"Thank you. I hope Wilson's paying you for this."

"He tried, but I refused. Greg…I'm so sorry."

"So am I. Poor Dominika will lose her green card, and I'll miss so many wonderful meals and massages and sex…"

"Greg. You're dying."

"Not right now. Now I'm talking with my lawyer. Do you think Wilson will marry Dominica?"

"Of course he will, if you ask him. He'd kill himself if you asked him to. Greg, do you really care about that woman? Do you…do you love her?"

"No, of course not. But I want to do what is right."

"Honest and blunt as usual. I'll miss you, Greg."

"Would that be a tear? Careful, or your makeup will run."

"It's waterproof. And it seems to be raining on your face as well."

House motioned the sheaf of papers in Stacy's direction. "Everything signed. Goodbye, Stacy."

"Bye, Greg."

* * *

><p>"Dr. Wilson? Do you have a minute?"<p>

Thirteen smiled at the sight of the oncologist's gentle face inviting them in. She hadn't missed too many of her colleagues during her absence, but Wilson was one of them.

"What can I do for you?"

Foreman, as usual in these cases, spoke for all. "We're worried about House. We've been discussing a case with him since the day after you had him admitted, but… today he doesn't seem to be really there."

"We asked Cuddy what we should do, whether we should let him be. She told us to ask you." Taub added.

Chase intervened. "We're worried about him. How long can he go on without a new liver?"

Thirteen wasn't surprised to see tears glisten in the oncologist's eyes. He managed to keep control of himself, and answered in a low voice**,** "I don't know. Last estimate was until tomorrow evening. Foreman, you're right. Make up something so he'll stop obsessing about the patient, and…" Wilson looked around, uncertain, "maybe you all should go and spend some time with him. Today, while he's conscious. He might well not be tomorrow."

"How about you?" Thirteen wished she hadn't asked. The words had just escaped.

He didn't seem to mind. "I will be with him tonight." He grabbed a tissue and dabbed briefly at his own eyes.

Thirteen got up and moved quietly to the door, and wasn't surprised to see the rest of House's team doing the same. "Thank you, Dr. Wilson," she whispered, before closing the door behind her.

* * *

><p>"Hi, House, Dominika."<p>

"Hi, Foreman. So how's the patient?"

"He's gone."

"Dead?"

"No. But his family found out about you and decided they can't trust a head diagnostician who's possibly not going to live to the end of the week; they had him transferred to some posh place in New York."

"Where he'll die."

"That's not our problem anymore. You are."

"No. You can't do anything for me, either."

"No, I guess not."

"You talked to Wilson, right?"

"Yes."

"So I'm going to see the whole team today, I imagine. In boring installments. Okay, your turn is over."

Foreman walked through the door, then turned around. "Thank you, House." He closed the door behind him.

* * *

><p>"Am I already delirious? Dominika, do you also see by Chase's side what would be a perfectly beautiful woman if she had a larger breast size and a smaller moral fiber?"<p>

"Hi, House. Wilson called me two days ago, so I had time to ask for leave and fly in. And I'm staying at Chase's for these few days."

"Please be careful. Sleeping two nights in a row with the same woman may be a shock the wombat's not ready for."

"Don't worry, I'm sleeping on the couch, her husband wouldn't appreciate otherwise."

"Dying is spoiling my manners. Cameron, meet my wife, Mrs. Dominika House. Dominika, meet Dr. Allison Cameron, former colleague."

The two women smiled at each other. "Nice to meet you, Dominika. I've heard a lot about you. Please call me Allison."

"Thank you. I've also heard a lot about you, and you're even more beautiful than I was told."

"Actually, Cameron, Dominika is right. Your breast size has definitely improved…when are you due?"

"In six months, in theory. Probably earlier. I still hope they'll find you a liver so you can see them."

"Them?"

"If it's two boys, I might call them Gregory and James. What do you think about that?"

* * *

><p>"Hi, Cuddy."<p>

She noticed House was nervous. Why shouldn't he? She was nervous, too.

"Thank you for seeing me. Alone."

House sighed. "I owe you that." He moved his hand just one inch towards her.

She grabbed the offered hand, brought it to her mouth and briefly kissed the palm, then held it in hers.

"I feel guilty about this. Maybe if I hadn't left you, you wouldn't have relapsed and your liver would be fine."

"Look, I get enough Jewish self-blaming in my life by hanging out with Wilson. It's not your fault. Hadn't it been for you, it would have happened months earlier, after the crane disaster. At least we had some good times together."

"And some bad ones."

"Yes. Try to remember the good ones, won't you? And…I'm sorry for Rachel. First Lucas disappears, than I do. You might want to be more careful whom you introduce her to next time."

"I will. Sex with you was great, you know?"

She was happy to see House smile, for the first time since she had entered the room. "It was. Wonderful, indeed. You're a hot woman, Cuddy."

"And you're surprisingly good at it for your age, or for any age. Too bad sex isn't enough to build a relationship on."

There was silence. Cuddy guessed they were both assessing the truth of her last sentence. Which was, unfortunately, very true. And now there would never be time to rebuild a friendship, unless a liver could be found in the next 24 hours. An AB+ liver. Like winning the lottery.

"Cuddy? I need you to do me a favor."

"I…sure. What is it?"

"Once I'm gone, take care of Wilson. If you can manage, sit shiva together for me. He…he shouldn't be left alone. He worked so hard to save me. I'm worried about him."

"I will. Anything else?"

"No. It's time for you to go, Dominika will be back soon. Come closer." He tasted a bit different than he used to. And all passion was gone. He was still a good kisser, but this was the final proof, if she had needed one, that their love story was over.

"Goodbye, House." She almost ran out of the room. She didn't know whether she was more afraid of him seeing her tears, or of having noticed his.

* * *

><p>"Hi House, hi Dominika."<p>

"Good afternoon, Dr. Hadley, Dr. Taub."

"Is Masters coming later? I'm not sure when I might be free. I have a busy schedule today, and delaying until tomorrow might not be a good idea."

Taub looked embarrassed. "I talked to her. She said she wouldn't manage to avoid crying and she knew how much you would hate that. She said she has gone on your nerves enough already."

"Smart woman."

Thirteen looked straight into his eyes. "House, thank you for… for picking me up with a cocktail."

"My pleasure. I'm sorry I won't be able to keep my promise to you. At least, not unless I get a last-minute phone call from the transplant network of New Jersey." He looked with longing at his cell-phone, lying mute on his bedside table. Thirteen had trouble keeping back a sigh.

Taub couldn't resist. "I imagine that's not what would happen. They'd call the reception and have them page Wilson."

House laughed. "You're always going to spoil my best lines. You're right, of course. So, I hear you're back with your wife?"

"Well, no. But…"

"She still misses your schlong. I finally figured out what it is women like in you."

Taub became slightly red, and Thirteen laughed out loud. "Thank you all the same for your offer to…solve my problem, House. And don't worry, all the rest of the team have made me the same offer. Privately, in each case." Taub looked even more red.

"Good to know you guys will take care of each other. But now you should go. I'm tired, and any minute that passes the risk of soppiness increases. I couldn't survive that. Greet Masters from me, and tell her she wasn't a major pain in the ass. Just a midsize one."

* * *

><p>Dominika looked at her watch. It was four thirty, but if felt like much later. Time had passed unnaturally slowly, with House drifting in and out of consciousness, while all kinds of people came "to say hello" which she clearly understood meant they were saying goodbye. House had asked her to leave the room twice, once to talk to his boss (and ex-girlfriend) and once in the morning to talk to his lawyer. Both times she had come back to find him very red-eyed.<p>

The only one who hadn't shown up at all was Wilson, who had spent most of the previous day there. House hadn't asked to see him, but she had noticed him becoming restless and looking at the door with increasing expectation every time he heard steps in the corridor. There was yet another knock. She smiled with relief when Wilson finally came in.

"Thought you would never show up. Isn't it a sacred duty to visit the sick?"

"Actually, it's a negative mitzvah: I can't stand by idly when a human life is in danger. I haven't been idle very much in the last few days, but now I'm done and I can stay here as long as needed."

She noticed that he hadn't said until when. He spoke to her next. "Dominika, I think you should go home now."

"Wilson is right, go home. But first, come here and kiss me. You know, just in case." She understood that there were not so many hours left, and the two friends wanted to share them. One last time.

She felt tears running down her face and didn't know what to do about it. She kissed her husband, ignoring the sick taste of his mouth, and turned to Wilson. "Thank you," she managed to say.

* * *

><p>Wilson removed and hung his lab coat and tie. He then opened up the first few buttons of his shirt and rolled up his sleeves. Than he sat back on the visitor chair, as relaxed in his presence as House had seen him so many times in the past. "So, what would you do if you knew you had only one day left to live?"<p>

House grinned. "Fill myself up with drugs and booze, but thanks to your intervention I can't do either."

Wilson smiled, but still managed to look a little bit guilty. "Maybe your original idea was the better one. This way you still have a chance, though."

House looked back and nodded. "A small chance, but better than none." He knew Wilson would be able to translate this into a warm, heartfelt thank you.

"I had hoped it would work faster." This he easily translated into 'Sorry it didn't work'. He smiled.

"You did your best in a difficult situation. Will you find and start my 'Best of Baywatch' DVD?"

"Only with muted sound, though. In this hospital the walls are made of cardboard."

"I have headphones. We can have one earbud each."

"Deal."

* * *

><p>"I think I dozed off the last ten minutes. Maybe I've had enough TV for now."<p>

"Same here. Shouldn't you be having dinner?"

"I don't think so, I'm already fat enough. I'm learning from you and from now on am getting my main nourishment in form of pills." Wilson pulled out from his pocket a small vial and popped two caplets in his mouth, followed by a large glass of water from the sink. "Don't worry, it's just caffeine."

"You plan to stay up late?"

"All night, I think. How about playing truth or dare?"

* * *

><p>House went back to consciousness slowly. Damn it, he had dozed again. His last evening on Earth, and all he managed to do was to keep falling asleep. He made an effort and opened his eyes.<p>

"Welcome back, House." Wilson must have been watching him. He realized that they were actually holding hands; to his surprise, he also realized that not only he didn't mind, but found the touch comforting.

"What's the time?" 'How much have I wasted sleeping?' went through his mind.

"Ten. It's early." The oncologist looked tired. "Want a couple of ice chips?"

"I'd prefer potato chips and scotch, but yes."

Wilson put an ice chip in his friend's mouth, his whole body shivering visibly at the contact of his fingertips with the moist warmth inside. He put another one when House opened his mouth again, and asked "Anything else I can do for you?"

The diagnostician thought. "I want you to call my mother. You know, afterward."

Wilson nodded.

House shifted in his bed, trying to find a somewhat more comfortable position. The spinal cath had been removed, but he had a morphine drip and wasn't in pain. He moved his legs, which were getting too little blood circulation. His heart must be becoming weaker.

"Should I massage your feet?" Wilson spoke as if he could read his mind. "They might feel warmer if I do."

House nodded. "You have experience with people dying, after all."

He answered simply "Yes," moved his chair near the end of the bed, and started massaging House's left foot, ankle and calf with some pleasantly-textured cream. After a few minutes House felt a wonderful warmth, like life returning in his limb. Wilson delicately tucked the foot in and started working on the other side.

"I didn't know you were so good at this."

"You never asked."

When he had tucked in the right foot Wilson briefly washed his hands in the room's basin.

House yawned. "I think I'll doze some more."

Wilson lifted the bedcovers, easily moved House sideways (his naturally slender body made much lighter by days of fasting) and lay down close to him, his right arm around the other's shoulders, their bodies touching all through their length. House rested back his head against the other's throat, and as he threaded his fingers through his friend's he thought that his last conscious hours might have been a lot worse.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's note<strong>: The mitzvah comes from jewfaq(dot)org(slash)613(dot)html.


	6. April 23rd

Title: House's Liver

Spoilers: mild for Season 7 up to Ep 18. AU for further episodes.

Warning: possible major character death.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the House, MD characters, which is good since I tend to kill them.

Acknowledgements: many thanks to my efficient and helpful beta reader, George Stark II, who never complains no matter how many mistakes I manage to pile up in a single sentence. Further thanks to yarroway and karaokegal for consults about Judaica. Any remaining errors are of course mine.

* * *

><p><strong>Epilogue<strong>

**_Saturday, April 23rd_**

"House! Wake up! House!"

Consciousness returned slowly. Wilson's body warmth still enveloped his torso, but his friend was calling him.

"Fuck you, Wilson, what do you want again? Let me sleep in peace. It's - he glanced at the oncologist's watch - three am." Then he looked up at the flushed face so close to his, saw the pager in the left hand. And knew, before the words were spoken.

"Don't worry, you'll soon be asleep again although I won't. You're getting a new liver."

**_Sunday, April 24th_**

Wilson sat up on the cot, rubbing his eyes. He realized he had been woken up by the ongoing sound of church bells. Why were bells ringing at (he checked his watch) one am, he wondered? He turned to check House's monitor and was very satisfied by the numbers on it. And then he heard a soft moan. House was finally waking up after the transplant.

"I feel like shit." The voice was hoarse after the long silence.

"Glad to know you appreciate your new liver." He felt a few tears forming in his eyes, and quickly wiped them away.

Just in time, as the blue eyes were looking at him. "I'm back from death and in pain, and it's all your own damn fault." He felt a hand squeezing his, as House closed his eyes again.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note.<strong> There's a sequel ready, but still in need of a beta reader; feel free to guess the title in the reviews.

* * *

><p><strong>Alternative Epilogue - What Might Have Been (But Wasn't)(This really, really didn't happen)<strong>

* * *

><p><strong><em>Saturday, April 23rd<em>**

Dominika and Cuddy were sitting on either side of the bed, each holding one of House's hands, when Wilson switched off the monitors and said quietly "Time of death, 7:23 pm." He felt sorry for them; when Dominika had arrived to the hospital in the morning, House had already been in a coma. Cuddy, busy with her double duties as mother and Dean, had only been able to be there since the middle of the afternoon. He recalled with some relief that both had been able to say goodbye the previous day.

His thoughts shifted back to five thirty in the morning, when House had woken up for the last time.

"Wilson, have you been awake all night?"

"Thanks to the magic power of caffeine."

"I'm tired, and my leg hurts. Can you up my morphine?"

Wilson disengaged his fingers, then slowly climbed out of the bed from under his friend's torso.

He upped the morphine and checked the monitors. House would soon be comatose. "More ice chips?"

"No. Get the flat metal bottle inside my jacket's pocket, please."

Wilson did as requested, then opened and smelled. "House…that's whiskey. You can't…"

"I'm a doctor, idiot! I can't but you can. Take a large sip, and let it wash all over your mouth before you swallow."

Wilson looked very puzzled, but did as he was told. The whiskey on an empty stomach was probably not a good idea, but he wasn't going to refuse any request of House, however absurd.

"And now come back in bed with me."

Wilson tried to resume his former position, but found that House had managed to turn towards him and was trying to hug him, as much as the various tubes allowed. He hugged him back, feelingly oddly comforted by the warmth of his body.

Suddenly House's face moved incredibly near. "I want to lose consciousness with whiskey on my taste buds." Wilson never knew how he managed to kiss House while keeping his eyes open, locked in the blue ones in front of him. Their tongues explored each other's mouths until all taste of whiskey was gone, and longer.

Until House lay back and whispered "I think I need to sleep some more," and closed his eyes.

Wilson let go of his hands and stepped out of the bed only hours later, when he realized that his friend was never going to wake up again.

* * *

><p><strong><strong>Author's Note: <strong>**Because I can barely resist the pull of death. Just barely.


End file.
